The Twelve days of Mu Tsu
by Cabbitshivers
Summary: Mousse feels that staying in Japan in general is pointless. That his life is pointless. Nothing is making sense. Especially NOT the letter his mother's just sent him. Merry Christmas Mu Tsu. (Shounen Ai)
1. On the First Day

**THE TWELVE DAYS OF MU TSU**

_The First Day_

**A Letter From His Family**

The muffled __thump__ of a wooden staff upon the stairs marked the beginning of another day at the Nekohanten. One pair of ears distantly tracked the sounds as they wound their way around downstairs, accompanied by the familiar noises of doors opening and closing and windows being slid up on their tracks to allow in the crisp morning air.

Mousse glared at the reflection in the mirror. Today marked the two-hundredth day away from his village. He hadn't known that when he was sent away to join Xian Pu and Koh Lon in Japan that he would be helping to upkeep a café in the Nerima district of Tokyo. Or that he would be an unwanted distraction to both the old wizened Amazon and her great-granddaughter in the sense that he was an Amazon male and they were just simply not equipped for dealing with him. Not to mention that he was a complete embarrassment with his worsening eyesight and his unwavering insistence to fight Saotome Ranma. In fact, the Amazon council had told him absolutely nothing as they packed him up, lead him to the ships, and sent him sailing away to Japan with an escort of three warriors that had just left him on the Tokyo docks when they had arrived. He'd had to wait two hours before Koh Lon had come and lead him to the café.

Mousse bent his head closer to the mirror, his nose almost pressing up against the cool glass in his effort to make his reflection clearer. His glare deepened. Even this close and he could barely see himself anymore. He'd always had bad eyesight, and had always been able to hide it until the most recent couple of years when it had become just too bad to hide anymore. The glasses had helped, of course, but they had also shouted to the entire tribe that he'd had a weakness, that he was flawed… and his growing fear as each morning he looked into the mirror and saw less of himself than he did the day before was that eventually, one morning he was going to wake up and see absolutely nothing at all. He knew that there was a slim chance that he wouldn't go completely blind, but slim chances rarely bore any fruit and if by any chance he did happen to retain his eyesight it wouldn't avail him any seeming what he saw could not be identified anyway. His world was a merely a blurred mass of shifting colours, smells and voices.

/Still, I should be thankful that I have the glasses./ He thought.

Pulling his face back from the mirror and the two hazel smears in a pallet of peach that was his face, he reached out and fumbled for his glasses, eventually finding them and slipping them on.

His world cleared slightly around the edges.

Mousse blinked behind the thick lenses and waited patiently for his eyes to adjust. He could see himself in the mirror now, clear enough due to his proximity to the reflective surface – but if he moved back three meters he would join all the rest of the blurs that still crowded the rear of his vision. How long before the three meters degenerated to two? Then to one? How long before even the glasses stopped being able to make a difference?

Mousse sighed and attempted to look himself in the eye. All he was met with was the milky surface of his thick lenses. They were as impenetrable as a tank and there was really no point in trying to see his eyes through the thick glasses that shielded almost a third of his face. That was another reason why he should hate the cursed things. They made him look like some kind of freak, stupid and deformed, and hiding his perversions behind the swirly lenses of massive glasses. Who knew what thoughts were reflected in his eyes? Who knew who his perverted gaze was fixed upon…

He hated Nerima. He hated these Tokyo Japanese… Their backwards ways confused him, left him feeling dirty and scorned, but he supposed they were a far cry better towards him than how he would've been treated in the village if he acted there the way he had here. At least in this city the people forgot very quickly… at home he would have been forever labelled unscrupulous and an unfit man for traditional ceremonies if he had gone around embracing everyone shouting out his undying love for 'Shampoo'. Still, despite this he missed being back in the village, living under the protective hand of his mother and the loving gaze of his father. They had both continued to shelter and raise him even after the village council had advised them to cast him out once the full extent of his disability had been discovered. They both loved him, even though his mother rarely showed it, and he knew that if they had had any say in the matter he would not have been shipped off to Nihon and would, in fact, right now be helping his father in preparing that morning's breakfast.

Actually, wasn't it about time…

"Great-granddaughter! Mu Tsu! Time to get to work!" The cry from downstairs arrived right on time.

"Coming!" Mousse shouted back down to the elderly Amazonian. "Old wizened hag." He added on a quieter note. He couldn't resist the small act of rebellion. His father always said that his stubborn rebellious streak would get him into trouble, and on numerous times it had, indeed, earned him a bop or two on the head by a rather heavy and solid wooden staff. But he found the effort to bite back the insulting remarks more harder than that punishing chunk of wood, and quite often the satisfaction of irking the old woman more than made up for the pain two-fold.

Running a comb quickly through his hair, he shrugged himself more comfortably into his robes and slipped into the small black slippers he wore while indoors. He could hear Shampoo moving around in her bedroom next to his, going through the same motions he was, albeit with slightly less experience and slightly more care and determination than he was. After all, she was here in Nerima to catch her husband, while Mousse was only here to, what? Hasten it along? Provide moral support? Bring upon jealousy in one Saotome Ranma – the ill-fated airen of the lavender-haired Amazon? Well, whatever it was, Mousse was pretty sure he wasn't doing it correctly. Two hundred days and almost nothing had changed at all since the first day he arrived…

"Mu Tsu!"

"Coming!" He shouted back, significantly louder than the cry that had originated from downstairs. Sighing loudly through his nose and barely restraining the urge to stomp his feet, he left his room and quietly made his way downstairs. As he emerged into what used to be the ground floor of a Go salon slash restaurant but was now the Nekohanten, he was greeted by the sight of a broom handle being pushed before his face and a rather belittling voice telling him that he had done a poor job of sweeping the night before and that he had to resweep the floor again before heating up the vats and fryers ready for the breakfast customers.

"Yes, ma'am." He replied, moving down to one end of the café with the rather tatty-looking broom and starting to sweep up what dust and dirt he'd left behind last night. Mousse knew that the Nekohanten wouldn't officially open for breakfast for another hour, but that never seemed to stop Ranma and whoever was challenging him that day from stepping in for some free food, so it made sense to start everything up early.

"Good morning, great-granddaughter. Did you sleep well?" The voice of Koh Lon sounded suddenly from somewhere behind him. Mousse paused in his sweeping to look over his shoulder as the lavender-haired great-granddaughter of the Amazon elder descended the stairs into the Nekohanten.

"Very well, great-grandmother." Xian Pu replied.

Mousse blinked, then returned to sweeping. He was still unused to seeing how different Shampoo looked with make-up on. Back in the village it was only the men who wore make-up, and even then it was only on special occasions. Coming here to Japan had been a big culture shock. The gender roles had almost been completely reversed from what Mousse had grown up with, and at first he hadn't known what to make of all of the loose men and boys that roamed about on the streets unsupervised. And the first time he had seen his village sister wearing make-up… well, it had been a strange sight, that was for sure. Watching Shampoo acting as though she was one of the more frolicsome village boys in the hope to draw her airen further into her charms could be rather…disconcerting at times. 

He wondered as he swept what the other village elders would think of her behaviour…

"Mu Tsu." The voice of Koh Lon penetrated his thoughts.

"Yes, ma'am?" He asked, once again halting in his sweeping and looking over at the old woman on the other side of the blurry room.

"Because you are taking so long sweeping, Xian Pu has started heating up the fryers. When you have finished here I want you to set the tables and then fetch us some new stock. We're low on daikon radish."

Mousse nodded his head; glad that his glasses were hiding the glare he was sending the old woman's way. How dare she… calling him slow. Just how long did she think it took to sweep a floor this size? Sixty-seconds?

"Yes, ma'am." He replied, schooling his voice to remain polite. "From the Miyuki market?"

"Yes, Mu Tsu. Tell her to bring the receipt around tonight."

"Yes, ma'am."

He resumed his sweeping, making sure the curtain of his hair kept his scowl away from view. Every morning she sent him off to get something different. Yesterday it had been cabbage, the day before it had been leeks and red onions. What will tomorrow bring? Hmm…sweet potatoes, maybe, he thought, half-serious and half-mocking. It had been a while since he was asked to fetch them.

"Mu Tsu."

"What?" Maybe he'd said that a little too sharply, but did they want him to finish sweeping, or not?

Cologne glared. "Don't take that tone of disrespect with me, boy." She warned. "Pick up the mail while you're out."

"Yes, ma'am."

She turned away and hopped back into the kitchen. Sometimes, he really hated that woman.

After three minutes of no more interruptions he finally managed to complete his first task. The second took a little less longer than the first, requiring just the moving of the chairs from their upside down station on the tables to their upright position on the floor and flicking two or three of the menus onto each of the tables.

"I'm leaving now!" He shouted in the direction of the kitchen, not expecting an answering call at all.

Toeing off his slippers, he slid his feet into more heavy-duty shoes and stepped out the front door of the Nekohanten, the tiny bell inside ringing behind him as he closed the door and started down the street.

Mousse inhaled deeply and sighed. It was going to be an early winter in Tokyo, he mused. He could smell the ice in the air already, though it wasn't likely to snow for another week or so, yet. As he walked down the slowly awakening street towards the market stalls he heard the old residents of the district muttering about their aching bones reacting to the chill in the air, eliciting smiles from him when they launched into 'the Coldest Winter I've Ever Seen…' stories. Old men everywhere did the same thing, Mousse thought, passing a particularly boisterous pair arguing over wether it was the winter of '54 or '62 that had forced one of their uncles to amputate a few toes to frostbite. Mousse could picture right now his great-grandfather and his two elderly best friends sitting outside on the porch of his grandmother's house, smoking their pipes and mumbling about this sore shoulder, and that aching back, and how cold it was when their third child was born…

Mousse was so wrapped up in picturing the familiar scene, complete with an insertion of him as a child, sitting happily on one of his great-grandfather's friends knee and laughing as their wives chastised them for some reason or another, that he didn't see the person walking slowly ahead of him and banged into them.

"My apologies." He said to who ever it was as he picked himself up off the ground, then offered a hand down to help the other to their feet.

"It's alright, Mousse. Don' worry 'bout it, hun." Replied the familiar voice as a slim hand accepted his help.

Mousse blinked and took a second look at the young woman as he helped her up off the ground. The accent and the giant spatula strapped to the girl's back could only make her one person.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Ukyo. I wasn't looking where I was going."

"I said don' worry 'bout it, hun." Ukyo replied, smiling at him politely, though not entirely friendly and certainly not trusting. Mousse wasn't surprised that there was no trust in the all too polite smile, after all – he was always challenging her iinazuke to fights all the time. He was pretty much a rival and acquaintance… nothing to do with friendship between them at all.

"So, where ya headed?"

"Miyuki's market."

"Aa." The girl replied, joining him at his side as he continued walking. Mousse looked at her curiously from the corner of his eye, blurred though she was.

"Me too. I'm out of mushrooms." 

That was the end of the conversation, and they walked the rest of the way to the market in a strange, but not entirely unpleasant silence. Once there they purchased their selective foodstuffs, Ukyo paying on the spot for her cultured mushrooms and then waiting while Mousse relayed Cologne's message to stop by the Nekohanten later to the short, dark-haired woman who owned the market stall. They both continued back the way they came in that same, easy silence, then nodded polite goodbyes to each other when it became time to part ways.

Mousse watched her as she walked away for a moment, the barrel of cultured mushrooms perched on one shoulder, until she became too blurry to distinguish from the rest of the world.

/Strange girl./ He thought to himself. He'd never actually expected her to talk to him of her own free will, or any of Saotome's friends for that matter. Funny…

After he'd stopped to pick up the mail from their box at the post office, he started back towards the Nekohanten. Leafing through the surprisingly thick bundle of letters, a large package that had required his signature to collect tucked under one arm; he was surprised to come across an envelope with very familiar handwriting. Quickly reading who it was addressed to, he couldn't help but feel disappointed that it wasn't him. His mother hadn't written once so far, and now that she had the letter just had to be addressed to the wizened old bat…

Slipping back inside the door to the café, the bell announcing his return, he slid out of his shoes and back into his slippers. Depositing the package and stack of letters onto the nearest table, he carted the small barrel of radishes into the kitchen and through to the small pantry out the back.

"You will take the orders this morning, Mu Tsu." Shampoo said to him once he emerged from the pantry. He looked over at the blurry image of the lavender-haired girl working at the ovens. "I will take over after lunch."

Mousse nodded. "All right." Ranma must have already arrived this morning while he had been at the market.

The bell by the door dinged, accompanied by the chattering of voices in conversation, signalling that the café's first official paying patrons had arrived. As Mousse went out to greet the arrivals and take their orders, he noticed distantly that the package and letters had already been removed. The bell rang again as another group of customers entered the establishment and Mousse started getting to work taking down the orders as more and more people walked through the front door of the café. Looked to be a rather large breakfast crowd. Concerned now only for getting down the right orders and bringing out the food to the right tables, Mousse eventually forgot about the envelope with his mother's handwriting on it. That was, until, Cologne called him aside when it came time to rotate shifts. As Shampoo went out to start taking the new orders for the lunchtime crowd, Cologne drew him to the side and sat him at the island in the centre of the kitchen.

"No doubt you noticed the letter your mother sent me." Cologne started.

Mousse nodded. "What did she have to write about?" He asked.

Cologne quirked a brow. "She and Po Mei are coming to visit." She told him. As Mousse's mouth dropped open in surprise she continued. "They will arrive on Thursday at approximately seven thirty-five pm at Tokyo airport. And they will be bringing with them a young woman who is rather quite interested in you for marriage."

Mousse's mouth gaped. "A-a iinazuke?" he stuttered, automatically using the word Ranma had been throwing around a lot lately. He was glad once again that Cologne could not see his eyes through his glasses – they felt about as wide as a koi's.

Cologne shook her head. "Sya' Lin says not yet, but if things go well, then yes."

Mousse felt all the blood drain from his face. "But…"

Cologne stood, effectively cutting him off. "That is all, Mu Tsu. The package your father sent and the letter from your mother are both on your futon for you to go through after we close. Now get back to work."

For a full minute after the elder left, Mousse sat staring at nothing in particular, frigid in his state of shock. It took the furious shout of his order-laden village sister and a swift kick to the side of the head to snap him from his stupor and get him back to work.

Never the less, he was dazed throughout the rest of the day, and though Shampoo blamed it on perhaps kicking her village brother a little too hard, it was for entirely different reasons that he occasionally mixed up the orders and used sake to marinate beef instead of soy sauce and spice.

He was almost afraid to go upstairs.

Thursday… His mother would be in Japan on Thursday…

...To be updated as soon as possible...


	2. On the Second Day

THE TWELVE DAYS OF MU TSU 

_The Second Day_

**_Two Contact Lenses_**

Mousse sat on the edge of his futon, his legs folded beneath him and his chin propped up on his hand. His uncovered eyes stared blankly at the wall. 

His mother was coming. Out of all the things he had expected from the letter he had puzzled over on the way back from the market, this had not been one of them. She was coming to Japan. To Tokyo. To __Nerima__. Before this week was out she would be at the front door, with his father, and maybe one of his aunts, and one of his village sisters who was interested in having him for a husband…

Who was it? He knew everyone in the village by name and voice, if not by sight, and there were no names mentioned in the letter. The only thing his mother had said pertaining to the other woman was: '_I am also bringing a prospective bride with wishes to see my son as her husband with us. That is, of course, the purpose of our visit…_'

So like his mother to get right to the point. He understood why the letter had not been addressed to him. After all, he was under the care of Cologne while he was in Japan, and she needed to be aware of the circumstances so that she could assist him in the preparations that now had to be made. His mother had listed certain instructions within the letter that Mousse was to follow. Money had been inclosed to help him in carrying out her wishes, and if he had any sense of timing they'd need to be carried out today. Which was exactly why Cologne had given him the only day off he'd ever had.

Mousse looked over at the open package beside him. Folded neatly within its packing box and wrapped safely in undyed calico was a garment of royal blue silk. Mousse had gasped and nearly passed out when he'd unwrapped the plain bundle and exposed the azure blue robes to the artificial bedroom light last night… he had __not__ been expecting his father's engagement robes. He'd quickly rewrapped the clothing and placed them back in the box, pushing the package to the side where he could think about it in the morning.

Well, it was morning now.

With an almost trembling hand he reached out and brushed aside the folds of plain calico cloth he had rewrapped around his father's robes. The rich blue silk was once again laid bare to his disabled eyes. The material was cool when it greeted his fingertips, slipping beneath the pads like the slowest flowing water from a mountain stream as he stroked it. He could feel no impurities in the silk; no bungled stitching in the flowers and birds he knew used the robes as their garden. The costume was perfect. Just as he knew he would have to be when his mother arrived with the village sister who wished to marry him.

Marriage. He had no choice but to think of it now. But why was he so… numb about the whole idea? It was bound to happen sometime, arranged marriages weren't all __that__ uncommon in the village, and it wasn't as if he hadn't had any suitors before. Oh, what the hell. Who did he think he was fooling? He was about as surprised as he was blind. True, he did have suitors when he was younger and when his bad eyesight hadn't been such a hassle to hide, but since he'd been exposed there had been none that even displayed a mild interest in __marrying__ him. Offers for him to do other things were not deterred by his myopia, however, but Mousse would never allow himself to stoop so low as to accept any of __those__ proposals…

Ancestors, he was so unprepared for this. He had pretty much convinced himself a year ago that he was never going to be considered 'husband material' and had resigned himself to being a village spinster for the rest of his life. Now he had a prospective proposal due to walk through the front door of the Nekohanten in two days time, and his whole perspective of his life ahead was thrown for a loop and sent off into low orbit… he had no idea what to make of __anything__.

"Mou…" His breath broke between his lips on a sigh of annoyance. He was just starting to settle in Japan and __this__ had to happen. When was the imp of ill-fated happenings going to stop chasing him around and hitting him over the head with a jingling bombori every time he went to plant his feet? It was annoying how when he just became adjusted to whatever circumstances he found himself within, something happened to make those circumstances change… 

Like how when he was a young boy he had to realize that his best friend was a girl and no matter how much he wanted to, he could not join her on the training grounds. Then after he'd accepted the tribal law that said that males were not allowed to fight, he was offered the chance to learn the art of Hidden Weaponry. And how when he'd just started to relax in the village again, beginning to think that although he was mostly blind and learning an art that was frowned upon, he was secure and safe at home – he was shipped off to Japan. And now, just when he'd gotten used to being in Nerima surrounded by the cursed Ranma Saotome and all of his fiancés, he finds out that he might become someone's fiancé himself…

Fate really had it in for him, didn't she?

Fingering the fine cloth of the engagement robes for a moment longer, he eventually sighed and pulled back his hand, the palm that had caressed the material tingling faintly with some unnameable energy. He had better get up. It was after nine already and he had a great deal of shopping to do if he wanted to be at least somewhat prepared for the days ahead. His mother had written that he needed to be more than presentable, which in her deceptively subtle but clear-cut tongue meant that he had to __impress__. Obviously she thought of his handicap as a deterrent, otherwise why would she order him to purchase such garments and accessories enough to make even a Japanese courtesan envious? Combs, robes, make-up even… she also wanted him to be fitted for a Japanese kimono, complete with hakama and yukata. Mousse knew that would take ages, that it almost certainly couldn't be completed before they arrived. But his mother's orders were, well, orders. And he couldn't very well disobey her, not without a good reason.

Mousse sighed. At least there was one thing on the shopping list that he wasn't in the least bit hesitant on buying, and that was a pair of optician-approved contact lenses. Mousse would need to be tested for them, he knew, which had never happened to him before. They hadn't even taken him to an optometrist's when they had gotten his glasses. Today would be his first trip to such a place, and he had no idea what to expect. But hopefully, just maybe, they might be able to do something that would help him to see better… anything had to be better than the water paint blur of the world that greeted him after each blink.

There was a sharp knock at his bedroom door, and Mousse almost jumped. He had been so consumed by his thoughts that he hadn't even heard the footsteps approaching his door. Or in this case the thump of Koh Lon's staff. 

"Mu Tsu, you should leave now." The old woman called through the door to him.

"I'm almost ready." The myopic boy replied. Reaching out he located his glasses and slipped them on over his nose. Remembering that he left his heavy-duty shoes out by the door last night, he left his room and padded down the stairs to the café in his socks. He glanced around at all the occupied tables, taking note of how many patrons there were, then decided that there weren't quite as many as there were yesterday. It was sure to pick up later, but for now it was a rather quiet morning. A somewhat appropriate day for him to have off.

"Mousse." The old Amazonian said suddenly from behind him. He spun quickly to cover his surprise.

"Yeah?"

The old woman ignored his nonchalant tone and held out a slip of paper. Mousse took it and pulled it up close to his face to read what was written there.

"It's a list of stores where you can purchase some of the things your mother requires you to. You know where to find the rest of what she asked for."

Mousse inclined his head in thanks. "Anything you need me to get while I'm out?" He asked, solely for the sake of being polite. He needed to get back into the practise before his mother arrived. He had never been the perfectly polite son, but even he knew that his attitude had decidedly worsened after being exposed lengthily to the more free Japanese males. He couldn't continue acting the way he had been here when his family showed up, and there wasn't really any better time to start reacquainting himself with his long-lost manners, than now.

Cologne snorted. She knew the exact reason why Mousse had asked, as well. "No. Son-in-law can take care of your duties here."

Mousse blinked. Ranma was here?

"Hey Mousse!" The all too familiar voice called out from behind him. Even when Ranma had nothing to gloat about he still sounded so full of himself…

The myopic boy turned to fix his clouded-glass stare at the grinning teen who had been standing behind his back. "Good morning, Ranma." He replied, deadpan. No use practising manners on this one.

A small frown twisted the edges of Ranma's lips, and then was gone. Mousse wasn't even sure if he really saw it.

"Aw, why so glum, Mousse?" The cocky voice asked. "Thought ya had the day off, or somethin'?"

"I do." Mousse replied, turning away from the other boy and walking off towards where his shoes and the door were. "Goodbye, Ranma." He said, slipping into his shoes and stepping out the front door of the Nekohanten.

"Ja ne, Mousse-kun!" The other boy called back, regardless of the tone in Mousse's voice. "I'll keep an eye on Shamps for ya!"

Mousse paused just outside of the door, his fists clenching tight inside the billows of his sleeves, then spun on his heels and was gone, leaving a perplexed Ranma staring at the space where he'd been.

"What's with him this mornin'?" he asked the old Amazonian beside him.

Cologne just shrugged and hopped back into the kitchen. Ranma shrugged too and followed suit. After all, Mousse was always acting a little strange…

Mousse stormed down the street, angry and frustrated, feeling strange and distinctly unhappy at the same time. He didn't know why he was so angry – which was strange. And he was unhappy because, well… he didn't know that either.

"Stupid Saotome, completely idiotic waste of carbon, he wouldn't know the truth if it whacked him across the face with a dead fish!" He half-muttered, half-shouted, his long hair streaming out behind him as his swift strides lengthened. "He really thinks I'm in love with Xian Pu? I'm near-sighted, not damn colour-blind! You'd think they would have realized that by now!" Turning a corner that led down into the mid-district shopping area, he growled, loud and aggravated, and bunched his hands into fists. "What do they think I am, dense?" 

Bringing himself to a sudden stop in the middle of the street, he forced his hands to unclench and took a deep breath to calm himself. "Stupid question." He murmured quietly. "It __would__ be too much to hope for, for them to realize that I __can__ tell the difference between women's body-shapes and men's. But do they think I am deaf as well?" Mousse sighed and continued on walking, although at a much slower pace than previously. "I suppose calling out Xian Pu's name just confused matters. But I thought that they would have been smart enough to know that I could tell them apart from her. I guess I overestimated them."

As he walked steadily further into the shopping district, Mousse pulled out the little slip of paper that Cologne had given to him, bringing it up closer to his face and squinting at the words with their thick, strong lines. At least Cologne had been considerate enough to write so as he could read it. On the white slip of paper there were written the names of five stores she wanted him to purchase from, all of which Mousse recognized as being expensive and popular clothing and boutique stores. Obviously his mother had finally come to realize that they hadn't sent him off to Nihon with hardly enough clothing, though how he was going to find __Chinese__ robes in these Japanese stores was a little mystifying. His mother __had__ specifically asked for traditional clothing. He only hoped that the wizened hag knew what stores she was talking about and that he had enough yen to cover the costs of everything on the list.

Glancing again at the store names, then taking a look at the area he was in, he decided that it would probably be more time efficient if he went to the optometrists first. He didn't know how long it would take to be fitted for his contacts, but the sooner he went the sooner he would get them. And he needed __everything__ by Thursday.

Trying to recall where he had seen the optometrists before - if he had seen it – and coming up blank for an address, he started to ask some of the near-by people for directions. A couple of early-morning shoppers shook their blurry heads at him, while a fair amount told him to go and see Doctor Tofu – "with him being a doctor he would know something about the other medical centres in the area." A woman with two hip-high children clinging to her arms had advised him after she politely pulled him away from where he had been mistakenly requesting directions from a store-front mannequin. 

"I can see why you would need to see one though, young man." She told him in a well-mannered appraising tone. "Those glasses don't seem to be doing anything for you. Go to Dr. Tofu. He'll know where to send you." With a quick departing bow, the woman took her children by their arms and dragged them into one of the near-by shops, and as Mousse watched their blurry forms melt into the scenery he decided to take the woman's advice and visit Doctor Tofu.

The waiting room was almost empty when Mousse walked through the front foyer into the reception area a mere three minutes after meeting the woman with her two children. He hadn't rushed over to the good doctor's clinic, but he certainly hadn't taken his time either. He only had today to get everything that was required for his mother's visit, and the small amount of time the day carried with it pressed heavily against his shoulders. Not to mention that he was eager to see the optometrist and be fitted for his new contact lenses. Almost nothing since he had come to Japan had made him feel this excited…

"Doctor Tofu?" He called out, casting a quick glance across the waiting room and wondering if the blur he saw there was really a person or a stack of magazines.

"Hai?" A voice called back, muffled from the next room. "That you, Mousse?"

"Yes."

"Be just a minute."

Before the allotted time was over, Mousse saw movement from across the room and watched as the blur he presumed to be Doctor Tofu approached him, his outline becoming clearer as he neared.

"Sorry about that, Mousse. What can I do for you?" He asked once standing a few feet from the Amazon boy.

"I was wondering if you could direct me to a nearby optometrist's? I have to purchase some contact lenses and I don't have much time in which to do it, unfortunately." Mousse told him.

"Well, it's a good thing you came here, then." Doctor Tofu replied, and Mousse could almost hear the small smile that the older man was wearing. "I'm a licensed optometrist as well as a GP." 

Mousse blinked behind the thick lenses of his glasses. "You are?" he asked, momentarily surprised.

Tofu nodded. "Yep, as well as a registered physiotherapist." 

Mousse blinked again. "Is there anything you don't do?" He asked after a moment of processing.

Doctor Tofu shrugged. "I'm sure there is." He replied, his voice implying that there were many things but he wasn't about to list them anytime soon. He gestured somewhere behind him and gently nudged Mousse's upper arm. "The lab is back this way. I presume you wish to be tested now?"

Mousse nodded. "Yes, please. I really do need these contacts as soon as possible."

"Good, good. We'll get started then, shall we?"

A few minutes later saw Mousse set up sitting in front of a strange-looking machine made of plastic and metal. He could hear Doctor Tofu moving about the room, but could see little more than watermark blurs now that he'd removed his glasses at Tofu's request.

"Now, this isn't going to hurt, Mousse." Doctor Tofu's voice came from someplace just to the side and in front of him. There was the sound of something sliding hollowly into place. "I'm just going to ask you to look through the visor and tell me what you see."

"What visor?" Mousse asked, slightly annoyed and voice betraying it. "I can't see one to look through."

Abruptly there were large hands gently cupping the sides of his head. "Do you trust me?" The voice of Doctor Tofu asked.

Mousse hesitated. Was there truly anyone he did trust? He didn't know, but… "Yes." He answered.

Gently, and very slowly, the hands guided his head into position, moving his face closer to the large grey and white blob in front of him until the cool feel of metal pressed against his brows and temples. The hands removed themselves from over his ears, leaving only cool air in their place.

"What do you see, Mousse?"

Mousse blinked. There was a flood of black smudges in the middle of one large flood of white. "What am I supposed to be looking at?"

"I take it that's a 'no'." Tofu replied. "Don't worry, we're only just starting." There was another sound of something being shifted. "Better?"

Mousse blinked again. "I can't even see the black now – it's all grey."

More shifting sounds. "Okay, the other way then… How about this one?"

Mousse blinked as the image shifted, then let out a startled noise. "They're letters?!" He cried.

Tofu let out an amused chuckle. "Yes, they are. Can you read them for me?"

Mousse squinted. "Just the top row. From right to left it's: F, G, R, Q and D."

"Very good, Mousse."

"How far away are they?" He asked. Looking through the strange contraption he couldn't tell a thing.

"Mm, about three meters."

Mousse was startled. "N-nani?! Even with my glasses I can't see this well from that far away!"

"Really?" Tofu questioned him, sounding immediately more professional. "Were you tested for the glasses you have now?"

"No."

Doctor Tofu sounded distinctly displeased when he replied. "I see." There was another sound of something scraping and the poster of letters became even clearer. The next two lines were easy to read.

"See what?" Mousse asked.

"Well, Mousse, when using sight aids that have not been specifically suited for you, you run a high risk of worsening your problem. That's why there are tests to determine which strength lenses you need to have. If the lens is too strong it will strain your eyes while not aiding your sight at all, and if the lens is too weak, it will do nothing and improve nothing."

Mousse felt a familiar cold pool of frustration begin to well within him. "You mean, those glasses that I've been wearing for the past five years have actually made my eyesight __worse?!__"

"More than likely, Mousse, yes." There was another scraping noise. "How about this one?"

Mousse's eyes widened as his mouth dropped to what felt like the floor, the anger at his old glasses forgotten. "I-I can see all the rows!" He stuttered. "Every letter!"

"Really?" Doctor Tofu sounded surprised. "Read them to me."

Ten minutes later Mousse was leaving the small local clinic with an old pair of glasses in his hand and a new pair of test specs perched on his nose, blinking wide-eyed at the streets he'd passed through numerous times but never actually seen. Throwing the old pair in the nearest rubbish bin, he made a note of what time he was to return tomorrow to pick up his soft contacts, aware that they would have to be sent over from another district, and set off to continue the rest of his shopping with an air of euphoria that would have seemed impossible a week before.

...To be updated as soon as possible...

**_Responses to Reviews:_**

_"Hey there!" _- Thank you so much for your kind review! I'm glad to know that there are others that feel that Mousse is an underdeveloped character in serious need of fanfiction author manipulation. I tried my best with the Amazon culture, but I fear that all I know of it really are from my Classical Studies... ahh... studies. Chinese Amazons? Nifty twist Takahashi-san. So yeah, it's very Greek, but I think I will refrain from the removing of the breast because... *shudders* well, who wants to go there? I think that maybe I might be taking it a little far, but I hope it's still enjoyable to read. Thanks once again for your review! I'm going to keep writing hard to keep your expectations up!

*Sets up a cheer squad* "Number One! Number One! Number One Revieeeeewwwwer!" Congrats! You get a prize! (I think I'm trying to bribe you...) You get a.... Request Pic! Just mail me, or review me to tell me what you want!

_Jou-pup_ - Thank you for your review! I hope very much for mine and everyone else's sake that Mousse WILL be happy at the end of this fic. It's a feel-good-ish Christmas fic so he HAS to be. Heh... doesn't mean that the road there isn't gonna be... um... slightly canyon-ish. *Drums fingers together* I'm going to have a lot of fun writing the next chapters. I'm afraid I can't tell you how Mousse's fiancé will be, because my stories just tend to write themselves, and she's the wild card that's going to be bringing everything in together, so it would kind of be seeing the movie before reading the book if I old you what my vague plans for her are. Just two more chapters after this one, though, and you'll find out! Thanks again!

_Hyperactivator_ - Hmmm... I don't know... maybe Ranma? Or-or maybe Ryouga! Hey! It could be Kuno! O-o-o or even some girls? Like Shampoo! Ukyo, maybe? Or maybe Tendo Soun! Or... it could even be the Guide at Jyusenkyo Springs! I have no idea! I'm just testing the waters at the moment, and seeing how my Mousse responds to my Ranma's and my Ryouga's and my Ukyo's. I don't want too much of an impossible fic. Just keep reading to find out!

Thanks to all reviewers! *Sends them all dancing-Mousse christmas cards* 


	3. On the Third Day

_The Third Day_  
**Three Dusty Boxes**.

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Mousse sneezed.

The dust flew up into his face in a bacchanal flurry, filling his mouth and clogging up his nose even further than the dirty, unused room already had. With another painful sneeze, Mousse pushed himself back away from the cupboard he was cleaning and fanned the air in front of his face, trying to clear it of all of the dust that seemed to be laying about the room in gargantuan amounts. There was no point in opening a window to let the dust out - all of the windows were already wide open - and despite Mousse's earlier attempts at wet-dusting, once he managed to get one part of the room clean, it just got dusty again in his cleaning of another part. It didn't help that the room was also frigidly cold. Despite the late morning sun glaring white outside in a painfully blue sky, the north-side room saw none of it.

Sitting back on his heels, Mousse pushed his new glasses up onto his forehead and wiped at his eyes. The lenses had acted as a shield well enough, but dust had an annoying habit of floating around obstructions and getting into places it really ought not to be - namely his eyes. His vision was still blurry when he pulled his glasses back on, and it took him a moment to realize that the dust motes had stuck themselves to the lenses as well.

"Damn," he swore quietly, swiping one of his long sleeves across his glasses while he still wore them. "I'd much rather be working downstairs than cleaning this stupid room." Disgruntled, he tried to fold the long sleeve back up to above his elbow, but it was just as stubborn as the other sleeve and would not stay folded up there for long. Sighing, he let his arms drop down and pouted.

Cologne had given him another day off, which had surprised Mousse that morning as he readied himself to start work in the café. Of course, anything that seemed to be generous turned out to be a mixed blessing when it concerned the elderly Amazon, and she had given Mousse the day off on the pretence that he clean the two spare rooms next to his own in preparation for his parents and prospective wife's visit. Of course, an arduous task like that would take the whole day, so really the old woman had given him no break at all.

"Stupid witch." He muttered, then was taken by another large sneeze as a particularly thick batch of dust, unsettled by his moving about on the floor, went up his nose and exited again quickly, knocking his glasses down his nose and watering his eyes. Whoever said that sneezing felt good had obviously never cleaned an extremely dusty room before, Mousse thought, getting up off his knees and walking over to where a mop and bucket sat against the far wall. Sneezing too much was a very painful experience.

Humming a nameless Christmas song to himself that he'd heard on a store radio the other day, he had another go at mopping the floor - the second time that morning. The amount of dust in the room was phenomenal. He'd had to change the bucket of water twice the first time he'd mopped, and by the way the water was rapidly turning a greyish-brown, Mousse didn't doubt that he'd have to do so again. He was interrupted before he could launch into a mental diatribe about slave-driving Amazon demons however, when a horribly familiar voice suddenly called out a greeting. "Yo, Mousse!"

And a body sauntered into the room, disturbing the dust even more if it were at all possible.

Mousse looked up from his mopping and gave Ranma a dispassionate stare.

"Hello, Saotome." He replied politely, and then returned back to his mopping, ignoring the other fighter's presence and hoping that doing so would hasten the other boy to leave. He was surprised, then, when a few moments later he heard the clicking of a pressurised can being shaken. He looked up to find Ranma standing over by the windows, the can of furniture and wood polish in one hand and a yellow cleaning cloth in the other.

"What...?" Mousse started, perplexed.

Ranma looked over his shoulder at him and shrugged, a small half-smile twisting one corner of his mouth.

"Cologne sent me up here to help you clean the guest rooms." He said. "She said not to worry about the other room; her and Shamps will do it tomorrow morning. She's conned me into helping out in the café while they clean."

Mousse once again continued his cleaning of the floor, but looked at Ranma out of the corner of his eye.

"You're content with her ordering you around?" Mousse asked, keeping his voice carefully neutral.

Ranma shot him a strange look over his shoulder, then sprayed some of the polish onto the window frame and started wiping it down with the cloth.

"Nah, I don't mind it." Ranma replied. "'sides, it's free food." He paused. "And nice glasses, by the way."

After that Mousse kept his head down and allowed Ranma to help him clean the spare room disguised as a giant dust ball. They made short order of it, and while it was Ranma - one of his many banes - who was assisting him, he did appreciate that it cut his cleaning time down considerably.

By the time it was past twelve, and the Nekohanten café below their feet was at its busiest and loud laughing voices could be heard through the floor, all that was left to be cleaned was the second cupboard by the windows.

Mousse sighed and shrugged his shoulders, loosening them from all of the tension the repetitive movements had created. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Ranma doing the same. He'd also noticed while Ranma had been sweeping the cobwebs from the ceiling corners that he had been throwing some unusual glances his way. He'd shrugged it off at first as just another weird thing about Ranma that he didn't understand, but after a while it had begun to annoy him. Putting down the cloth and glass cleaner he held in his hands, he turned to ask the Japanese fighter about it when he found that he was looking at him with that strange expression again.

"What?" Mousse asked, his brows drawing down and feeling slightly perturbed at the other boy's staring.

"Your hair." Ranma replied as if it explained everything.

Mousse huffed indignantly. "What about my hair?" he demanded. Ranma was being unusually obscure and it was getting on his nerves.

"Nothin' much," Ranma replied. "I've just never seen it tied back before."

Mousse blinked, perplexed, then his eyes widened behind his glasses as he remembered that he'd tied it back into a tail earlier when it had kept falling into the cleaning water as he'd scrubbed the floorboards. He said a silent 'Oh' and schooled his features back into impassivity. There was only one thing he was displeased about with his new glasses, and that was that they didn't allow him the freedom of unseen facial expression like the others had. These new glasses were thinner, clearer, and he supposed showed every nuance of his emotions. He looked back over at Ranma, but was relieved to find that the other boy had turned away and was now surveying the clean room.

"So are we done now?" He asked.

"No," Mousse replied. "We've still got that cupboard to do." And he pointed.

"Alright then." Ranma said. He cracked his knuckles and strode purposefully for the door.

Mousse rolled his eyes and moved towards the cupboard after him, feeling his skin prickle as a sudden cold breeze made him shudder. As Ranma reached to slide the door open, Mousse glanced outside of the window. The trees in the distance were still, their leaves and branches unmoving. There was no breeze that he could see, and even if there was, it wouldn't have been what had caused the sudden cold shift of air, he realized, another chill stealing through his limbs. He had closed the windows when he had been cleaning them, and he'd forgotten to open them again after he had finished. The windows were still shut tight. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Ranma opening the cupboard, and the impending sense of... something, had him calling out a warning just before the cupboard door exploded outwards and a large dark essence burst into the room, throwing Ranma backwards against a wall.

"Saotome!"

"What the--!"

Mousse let out a sudden grunt as he was flung backwards onto the floor, a penetrating chill spreading through his shoulder where the dark thing had touched him.

"Mousse?" Ranma called as whatever it was fled out of the room. "What the hell was that?"

Shakily, Mousse pushed himself up onto his feet. "What makes you think I know?"

Ranma moved over to the cupboard where half of the door still clung stubbornly to its rails, cocked at a crooked angle and looking as though it had been attacked by a particularly voracious mulcher. Mousse watched almost warily as the other boy peered into the alcove, half expecting another ghost - if that's what the shadow was - to come bursting out and attempt to chew off Ranma's face. His own face screwed up at the thought. That would not be something that he'd want to see, even if he didn't like Ranma all that much. Well, sort of didn't like him. Though the almost frantic shout that had come out of his throat before the ghost had blown off the cupboard door would perhaps suggest less than 'sort of'. And so what if he didn't exactly _dislike_ Ranma. He didn't dislike any of them, really... well, except for that Kuno guy - he had to be the weirdest Japanese person he'd met so far. But even then...

Not that it mattered anymore, anyway. His mother was determined to have him married, and his mother usually got what she wanted. So therefore, there was no purpose to dwelling on his relationships with the other Nerima fighters. They wouldn't exist shortly, anyway.

The cold chill in his left shoulder trickled down to spread in his gut. How come the thought of that made him feel sick?

"Yo Mousse! Come and look at this!" Ranma's call broke through into his sudden melancholy, the self-assured voice carrying with it a thread of excitement. He looked to where the other boy was crouching in front of the cupboard alcove, his hands busy inside, moving around something obscured by his head.

"What is it?" He asked cautiously, coming up behind the other fighter and peering over his shoulder.

"Old armour - check it out! There's some boxes here too. This stuff looks quite old. Is any of it your guys?"

Mousse bent further over Ranma's shoulder and looked more carefully at the dust covered items in the cupboard.

"No..." He said slowly, eyeing in particular the three small boxes beneath the dilapidated armour. "We don't use these rooms." A small triangle of off-white paper stuck out from beside the boxes, and sticking forth an arm, Mousse plucked at it and pulled free an old newspaper. It was yellowed with age, and the printing ink had faded, but it was still clear enough for Mousse to determine the date.

"July 23rd, 1915." Ranma read aloud. "That's about the time of the Great war. You think this stuff's been in here that long?"

"Probably." Mousse replied, reading over some of the headlines on the top page.

Ranma looked over his shoulder at him. "So..." He started, and Mousse lifted his eyes from the newspaper at the promise of a cocky comment carried in Ranma's voice. It caused a cool chill to run down his arms. Ranma had that strange look in his eyes again. "Shamps tells me you might be getting' married."

Mousse stared at Ranma for a moment. He wasn't sure why it was suddenly a little harder to breathe, or why for some inexplicable reason his heart contracted painfully in his chest and his nose began to ache. He knew that his mother was coming. It wasn't new news that she was bringing with her someone who was thinking about marrying him. It had been made clear to him that if everything went to his mothers plans he could very well be engaged before the next week was through. Funny how it was only just now that he was realizing the enormity of it.

Married. _Him_. Possibly... Maybe... _Married_. A _husband_. **Him**.

He broke his gaze, diverting his eyes from Ranma's face back down to the newspaper in his hand.

"Yeah," he said, somewhat surprised that his voice and hand were steady. "I might be."

"Who is she?" Ranma asked. "Is she nice?"

Mousse swallowed down a small lump that had risen in his throat. "I don't know." He replied. "I haven't met her yet." One of the small headlines on the newspaper jumped out at him; '_Kyoto Murder the Cause of Mentally Ill Wife_'.

Ranma laughed shortly. "One of them, huh?" he asked. Mousse lifted his eyes from the paper to find Ranma smiling at him. He blinked as the Japanese boy turned on his knees to give him a hearty pat on the shoulder.

"Don't worry, Mousse, she's probably really cool. And if she isn't..." His fingers squeezed Mousse's shoulder. "I'm sure you'll find a way to get out of it."

"Like the way you have, you mean?" Mousse replied, narrowing his eyes.

Ranma laughed and sat back on his heels. "I'm not married, am I?" he asked, and squeezed Mousse's shoulder again. "Besides, with all these iinazuke fighting over me, chances are I won't be for years."

Mousse sighed and stared at him. It wasn't as easy as Ranma was saying. Though the other boy had three fiancés of his own, a fair amount of other girls and even a couple of guys after him, he couldn't possibly understand what situation it was that Mousse was in. Mousse wasn't the subject of a ridiculous amount of arranged marriages, like Ranma. He wasn't bound by a previous choice his parents had made for him. In the end, if the village sister wanted him, it was his choice to accept. He had the final say. However, honour and respectability had a lot more weight behind his choice than any private want he had. If and when it came down to it, and his village sister proposed, there were only two choices he had to decide from. Accept, and make his parents happy and perhaps over time, himself as well. Or decline, and be shunned forever by his home, for who else could ever want a damaged and reckless young man like him for a husband?

Mousse sighed again. "It's not so simple as that." he said.

Ranma's mouth still smiled a little at him. "Ain't it?"

It was then that Mousse became aware of their close proximity to each other. Mousse had still been kneeling behind Ranma when the Japanese fighter had turned around, and now they were facing each other their knees were practically touching. The newspaper Mousse held in his hands was bent at the top against Ranma's chest, and if he thought on it he could feel Ranma's breath fanning faintly against his face. The hand Ranma still had resting solidly on his shoulder created a triangle of intimacy that Mousse was extremely unused to with the Nerima fighter. They had never been this close to each other outside one of their fights or one of his glomping diversions. It felt alien, and Mousse was not used to seeing Ranma's eyes this close or this clear. He'd never really noticed before, or hadn't perhaps been able too, but Ranma's eyes were really an unusual shade of deep blue...

"No," Mousse answered. He swallowed down the larger lump that had risen into his throat. "No, it's not."

Ranma blinked, looking confused.

"We should fix the cupboard and clean up this mess. There are other things I need to do this afternoon," Mousse continued. "And I cannot afford to put them off for too long."

In silence the cupboard was shortly repaired and cleaned, and Mousse was back in his own room before Ranma had even put down the can of polish.

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Sliding his bedroom door closed behind him, Mousse heaved a sigh and forced himself to relax. Being around others always put him slightly on edge, but being so near to Ranma for that morning had stressed him out more than he had realized, or anticipated. Having stayed in such close proximity to the other boy without being involved in some sort of fight, competition, or chaotic rescue attempt had tightened the muscles in his back to the point where slouching was too painful. Ranma's attention towards him had been abnormal, confusing, and the way he had kept shooting him odd glances making the small hairs on his arms stand on end.

Reaching his arms up high above his head, he stretched, sighing as the joints in his shoulders popped. He pulled his hair out from its tail, and the slight throbbing in his skull eased instantly, making his head feel a pound lighter. He glanced over at the clock on his bedside table, and seeing that it was nearing one-thirty decided that he couldn't spend anymore time in his room hiding from Ranma - he had contacts to pick up and a kimono to be fitted for.

He easily avoided going downstairs and through the restaurant where he could hear the Japanese boy's voice clearly requesting food, opting instead to exit through his bedroom window. There was a small veranda beneath his window that extended along one side of the building, and as he walked silently along it he tried to convince himself that he was not going to rather extraordinary methods to avoid Ranma. That would have insinuated that there was a reason to avoid the other boy, and Mousse couldn't be more or less concerned about the guy. But that was before the letter, and Ranma's suddenly odd behaviour.

His feet made a small crunching sound as they hit the ground of the narrow alley behind the Nekohanten.

"I am not avoiding." Mousse told himself firmly, and quickly made his way to Doctor Tofu's clinic.

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Mousse's billowing sleeves hid from view his nail-picking fingers as he stood in the fitting room of _The Waterflower_, waiting upon the arrival of the master tailor and seamstress. He'd only been shown in a minute before by one of the store attendants, and though he'd been asked to take a seat he felt too nervous to obey the polite request.

"Allow me to confirm the orders," the pretty shop assistant said to him, coming out from around a privacy curtain that sectioned off a part of the room. "That's one complete men's kimono, and one complete women's kimono."

Mousse nodded at the assistant. "Yes."

"What season for the women's?"

Mousse blinked and pulled out his mother's instructions. There was a small section written with a more delicate style than his mother's sharp scrawl- his fathers - and that was the part he read now.

"Autumn." Mousse replied. "In pale gold."

The assistant's eyebrows rose. "You may choose the material during the fitting." She said. "Is it for a special occasion?"

"An engagement." Mousse replied. He tucked the instructions back into his sleeve.

The assistant wrote something down on the clipboard she carried. "When will she be here for the fitting?"

Mousse swallowed and looked away, his face flushing a little. "There will only be me." He replied.

The assistant's head came up. "Oh, but then how will we be certain the kimono will--" Her voice slowed as her dark eyes widened. "Oh," she said quietly. Mousse flushed a little harder. "Oh, forgive me. I am sorry."

Mousse shook his head at the apology. "It's all right."

"It's not alright!" the assistant replied, striding up to him and taking his hand into her own. "It's beautiful!" Her dark eyes became large and a dreamy-look began to settle over them. "What's he like?" She asked. "I bet he's handsome! With blue eyes and dark hair! Or perhaps a blonde western man with green eyes! Or both! Soft brown hair and large hazel eyes! So beautiful..."

"What!" Mousse stepped back in alarm. "No, you misunderstand--" He replied.

"And I bet you two met in school - in the library! So romantic! Love at first sight! And--"

"It's not like that!" Mousse argued, trying to tug his hand free from her iron grip.

"-and he proposed to you on the tower, and you said 'Yes!'" The assistant suddenly sighed. "It all sounds so lovely."

"Mari!" A mans stern voice suddenly interrupted. The assistant yelped in surprise and let go of Mousse's hand, taking a hurried step back. "How many times have I told you to stop harassing the customers?"

"You should know better, Mari-chan." A woman's voice added.

Mousse, now back in possession of his hand, turned to his rescuers with relief and bowed a little lower than necessary in greeting.

"Konnichiwa." The man and woman both replied, bowing in turn.

"Sorry father, mother." The assistant said, picking up the clipboard she had dropped and handing it over to her father.

"Go back out into the shop." Her father said, and she bowed quickly, retreating as she had been told.

The man turned back towards Mousse, glanced over the clipboard, then passed it over to the woman at his side.

"You'll be fitted for both?" he asked, no inflection in his voice hinting as to what his thoughts towards that were.

"Yes." Mousse replied, flushing again under the impassivity of the tailor and the seamstress's faces.

"Behind the curtain then, please." The tailor asked, gesturing over his shoulder. "If you could remove most of your clothes, please. You may leave on your underwear."

Mousse was then poked, prodded, measured every which way, and shown a variety of styles and materials to choose from. He was unused to having a strange woman so close to him, and it had always been a man who had done all of his fittings back home. He blushed almost constantly around the tailor's wife, and by the time all of the technicalities were done he was an even, sun-flushed pink.

"That should do it." The seamstress said, inserting the last pin into the hem of the placebo hakama. "Now you wanted the imoonlight gold/i material with the birds and hares?"

Mousse nodded and shrugged out of the pinned garment with the aid of the tailor and his wife.

"We'll have to close the store, but the Kimono should be ready tomorrow night."

"Thank you." Mousse said.

It was after five when Mousse made it back to the Nekohanten. The café was buzzing with the dinner crowd, so Mousse went through the door at the back, grabbing a quick meal from the kitchen as he passed. Ranma wasn't there, and Mousse felt stupid for worrying about it.

Up in his room he sat on his bed. On his dressing table were numerous small articles. Hair pieces, make-up, jewellery, fans and other accessories. They covered almost the entire surface, and Mousse looked at them dispassionately. Some pieces glittered in the bedroom light, their metals and jewels catching and reflecting the illumination, but some other pieces didn't. He didn't. His reflection in the mirror looked back at him with a face paler than usual, and eyes made larger by the glasses that sat in front of them. He looked like matte plastic next to the trinkets on the dresser. The numbness settled into him again.

"If she wants me, I'll be getting married." He told his reflection, his opposite's mouth moving to the words. "It will be a cause to celebrate."

A cold chill started at his feet.

"Then why aren't I excited?"


End file.
